Ain't Scared Of Lightning
by tearful-eye
Summary: he couldn't say anything, even if the words filled his mouth - he pressed his lips together, hoping none of them would escape.' aka tony is feeling depressed - SPOILERS for s5 finale 'judgment day'


This is probably a pretty strange thing, but i felt the need to vent after the NCIS finale, cause, well... you know.

This is not betaed, has no real plot, & is not in any way stating that anything of NCIS is mine, sadly... tony would get lots of hugs & shirtless scenes, if it were. and just to warn you: it's been a couple of years since i last wrote any fanfic, so don't expect too much & i'd be glad for any comments, thoughts, or the similar :) - and i actually dont have much of an idea, what an agent afloat is, so don't expect too much of that either.

**characters**. tony, some (tiny bit) team. no actual pairings, but you can read it any way you like ;)  
**summary**. 'he couldn't say anything, even if words filled his mouth - he pressed his lips together, hoping none of them would escape.' (or: tony is feeling depressed) - takes place after judgment day  
**spoilers**. up to & including 517/ 18, judgment day

the story is also on my LJ - http / / tearful-eye. livejournal .co m/ 9635.html - if you like LJs more ;)

The title is, of course, by tom mcrae (may he write pretty songs forever), and i used a poem by emily dickinson (may she always be remembered as being made of awesome) - obviously that stuff was used without permission, but i don't intend to make profit, so...

-

_Ain't Scared Of Lightning_

-

**a.**

Sometimes the wind was like a lover - like warm fingers, ghosting over his cheeks, over his neck, tugging at his shirt, his hair, drowning out his voice in its own howl. Warmth, pleasure, ripping his emotions wide open, dragging his sorrows away in the pleasure of feeling someone else touching him - like a giggle behind his ear, lapping at his back, his stomach... And when he opened his lips, it filled his mouth, stealing his breath.

The wind was like a lover, like the different moods. A wetness, a coldness in the dark night, stealing his breath with a different intention than during the day. Hurt, robbing him of light, of his sight - maybe even crush his happiness in an iron fist, made out of air. He could open his eyes and not see a thing, the wind forcing tears into his eyes, the salt water on his face like his lover's tears. A tongue on his cheek, on his now closed eyelids.

Like a whisper, Alone, Empty. Sometimes full of joy, mostly just so quiet that he couldn't understand the words, but he knew they were there - in voices he recognized, but somehow couldn't place. Most of the time though it was just laughter, sweet and quietly, sometimes mocking him while ripping words away from his lips, blowing them far away - maybe so far, until someone else caught them and held them tight.

_Guilt._

_-_

**b.**

"It doesn't matter if you run, Danny. There's no way out of here."

"I didn't want to," Danny sobbed, "please, I didn't want to kill him, I swear." Nervous, jerky movements with the sun glinting off his gun, tears on the too young face. "I just wanted..." he trailed off, wiping the weaponless hand over his face, sniffing. "I just wanted to, to," he stopped again.

"I know. That's okay, but running now will get you nowhere. Trust me, everything will be easier if you just stop and hand me over that gun."

Danny's lips trembled, his gun hand shaking even more, the barrel now pointing at Tony's head - he was still a soldier. "Tony... Please?"

Tony bit his lip.

"I just... " The soldier's face crumpled once more. "I just wanna go home." His gun wavered. Tony made his move - subtle force, sleek elegance, emotions in control. Maybe.

Then, as he held the crying soldier - boy, the crying boy, he reminded himself - and made a shushing noise, stroking the hair, that was bleached from the sun and the salt, he knew he would have done the same thing if he could.

_Home._

-

**c.**

First there was silence, then a shaky breath. "...tony..." He closed his eyes, Gods, it had been so long since he had heard her voice, so long since he had her arms wrapped around him, comforting. Her laughter cleansing him, washing his confusion and self -deprecation away.

"Abby," he smiled.

"Oh Tony," she stammered, "we heard you were badly injured, but I couldn't reach you, and nobody's heard from you, and I was so worried. What happened? Why haven't you called? I was so worried..." He could hear her trembling, and while he couldn't hear her pacing and flailing her arms around, he knew she was. "...and McGee said the whole ship was out of contact, what happened! He was so worried. And Gibbs..." she trailed off, he remained silent. What could he say?

"I miss you, so much."

He closed his eyes, forcing everything away, leaning his forehead against the wall. "Abby..." he couldn't say it, he couldn't say anything, even if the words filled his mouth - he pressed his lips together, hoping none of them would escape - his breath came shorter. "Please..."

He could hear her keeping the sobs inside, she always felt so much, never held herself in check like that. Abby was like a canvas, colours and emotions, laughter and pain spilling free over her surface, coiled inside her every limb, dripping to the floor, in hugs, words - gestures, on to other people, freeing him.

She swallowed, then, very quietly: "We'll get you back here, Tony, I swear. Gibbs is ready to kill someone."

_Love._

-

**d.**

_'WITHIN my reach!  
I could have touched!  
I might have chanced that way!  
Soft sauntered through the village,  
Sauntered as soft away!  
So unsuspected violets  
Within the fields lie low,  
Too late for striving fingers  
That passed, an hour ago.'_

_(Emily Dickinson, 1924)_

He shuddered, but didn't close the book - his fingers slid over the page, tracing something he wished he could see, but didn't even remember. Although he could still hear her voice, mocking, as she read the words. Then changing into something else, almost reverent of the emotions that had been spilt in the poem. A smile, like she had never expected to see in his eyes, as she looked up; as they shared this secret behind the others backs.

He buried his face in his arms. The bed was soft beneath him, but empty. He felt thin, stretched out over too much space, too much time.

He cried. God, how he missed them, missed being trusted. God - Please...

_Regret._

-

**e.**

The laughter was as wild as the sea, the touches were rough. The smell of alcohol was intense at first, but quickly mingled with the salty spray of the water and the sweat of the men - Tony took a swig and gave the bottle to his neighbor, grinning. A hand clasped his shoulder, fingers scratched down his back - everyone was lonely out here.

The group sat huddled under some sort of tent, protecting them from the worst of the wetness. But still, the four of them were almost drenched, hair plastered to their careless faces, their lust. And if a tear was shed, no one could tell. They were all missing someone out here - waiting for something to happen.

Maybe Tony couldn't remember whose lips were on his neck, but they were soft and warm, despite the worn eyes - despite the closed eyes, which were thinking of someone else. He didn't think - didn't stop himself from examining those pictures, crossing his brain with lightning speed.

He was alive.

Everyone was still alive. Homesick.

Another swig, another kiss, someone else, but never at the same time and never more than this. Never more than a breathless roar of laughter, a gulp, a spilt mouthful of vodka. Never wish for anything else, anything more... Because reality would disappear into unreachable dreams. Never more, but somehow still enough. Everyone was friends out here.

Everyone cared. And somehow, Tony was still trembling as, when it was his turn again, the lust dissolved in the sting of the alcohol.

Seven months, sixteen days and now probably about twenty hours.

_Longing._

-

**f.**

Finally something was working. Tony sighed with relief as the computer flickered to its annoying blue-white life, his eyes not used to the intense burn of the screen anymore. Even if it was a crap screen, Tony thought, McGee wouldn't have touched it with a ten foot pole. He sighed again. At least now, after months, he would be able to read the same old porn sites without being bored.

"Whoa, Tony! You got the thing to work - magician, are you?" A shadow behind him, fading away, now that everything he wanted was almost within reach. A touch, "What do you need the thing for anyway, let me! I've got family, boy, a wife." The same touches he sometimes felt in the quietness of being alone.

Tony grinned, "shove off, Ross, haven't even checked my mail yet." It was so simple to understand one another out here. And it was a feeling that somehow didn't belong into this cramped space, which smelt of wet metal, that stole Tony's breath when he logged into his E-Mail account.

Lots of spam, more spam, TCG (the Toothpick-Chewing Git, as he had labeled the director when he still had only been Vance, the stand-in), even more spam, Gibbs... he stopped, but not long enough. McGee, twice - one from three weeks ago, one not even a day old. Tony's grin widened.

'... pretty interesting theft, through the cyberspace. And Eric (my partner, told you about him, didn't I?) moved...'

'...Abby broke her favorite cd, I think i was intentional. Jesus, Tony, you won't believe...'

'...probably because it's so much easier to write it, and not having to talk, and you interrupting me or throwing paper balls (and I even miss that!) at my face...'

'...I believe Ducky is thinking about retiring (though he'd never admit it), he looks really old lately and tired, even if I don't see as much of him anymore. Abby, Ducky and me try to meet once a week in a bar or somewhere - Gibbs sometimes joins us, but you know how he is (and he's worse than ever before, I swear!). I think it's that whole business with - you know...'

'...really need to come back. I really want...'

'...Tony. I've finally managed to get on the good side of TCG (we even went out for a drink, I felt like puking!), and Abby's pinned down the location. I think we've got him now, pretty sure and good. Ducky said that...'

'...soon.'

Tony let out a slow breath, he could feel tears gathering in the corner of his eyes and quickly closed the browser window. He let himself be shoved aside by laughter and gentle hands, and as he sank into the couch, he let his head fall back and covered his face with dry hands.

_Trust._

-

**g.**

Nine months, twenty-seven days. He had lost count of the hours some time ago, and had to look it up almost every time now, if he wanted to know the number of days.

The smile was unsure, maybe even a little broken, even if his step was like Tony was used to - straight and even. Maybe he didn't know if Tony even wanted to come back with him anymore. Wanted to be with him. Tony wasn't exactly sure himself, he just knew that he wanted to go home, but he wasn't sure if home was what he thought it was.

Then his name spoken, the word ripped away instantly, the wind a jealous lover now. It was too soft to hear, too short, but Tony saw his lips move, chafed and dry and biting back the trembling. Home was where he wanted it to be, Tony knew.

He wanted everything, so much - so much...

"Gibbs," like a prayer, but louder, too sure of himself, like always. But with one move, he knew that he had absolved him, could forget - his selfishness, ignorance and omniscience. He took one step forward, and into the lee side.

Blue eyes, steel in front of emotions, not like before. He glanced away, to the floor, and twisted his mouth into what could be interpreted as a smile.

It hurt.

A whisper of movement, his shadow closer to him - a hand gripped his shoulder, not tighter nor gentler than any had before - but he felt the burn of the skin through his shirt. Eyes met. An answering smile.

_Forgiveness._

-

**end.**

-

whew. that's done, now i've got it out of my system (i hope). i have no idea if this is good or if it's crap, so please tell me what you think... comments are love(d).


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